Counterfeit Villainy
by Brid Riain
Summary: Severus Snape addresses his own allegiances and sanity.


I've just been informed by an online quiz that my personality, when compared to the multitude of available HP characters, matches most closely to Severus Snape. I wasn't sure whether this should leave me insulted or delighted. I've decided the latter. Three cheers for bitter sarcasm! 

The illustrious Professor belongs to Ms. Rowling and the WB. He's just a kindred spirit.  
The lyrics preceding the piece are from Radiohead's _Planet Telax_. 

  
  


_Counterfeit Villainy_

  
you confess it but it will not come.   
you can crush it but it's always here.   
you can crush it but it's always near.   
everything's broken. 

  
  
For an exceedingly long time, I attempted to exist in two worlds. Let's just say that didn't work out terribly well. My little foray into the attractively packaged world of espionage resulted in the slow wearing away of anything resembling healthy emotions, loss of contact with my less than law abiding relations, and my own failure to repay a life debt. If I'd not been involved, I might have felt a tad less guilty over the Potters, but as the issue unfolds, James, the most wholesome, attractive, charming, preppily perfect, and all-around obnoxious student to be produced by Hogwarts is smiling down on me from some heavenly abode. Oh yes, despite our life-long squabbles and dislike, the poster boy of the light cannot find it within his heart to hate me for an eternity. I'm sure scowling is below him, even for a slug such as myself. His little clone, in every way except his bloody angelic eyes, has taken up the cause. Well, repulsive is as repulsive does, I always say. Actually, I only say that to myself, in my head, as I've no real friends, but who wants to wallow in self pity? I've done enough of that for several lifetimes. 

Not that I'd ever return to the dark side (cue Imperial theme here, folks). Despite a penchant for studying cinematic and literary villains over the centuries, I may be an evil, masochistic bastard, but I only do it to toughen today's youth. And getting it out of my system in house point deductions instead of muggle torture is infinitely preferable, wouldn't you say? But internal narrating and other signs of unstable sanity aside, I'm not an entirely rotten person. Only psuedo evil. And I've come to the conclusion that whatever prodigious, precocious Potter would vehemently exclaim otherwise, bad is more fun. Maybe I'm a bit lonely, but with confidantes like Black the Rip--er, pardon, Secret-Keeper, who needs friends? 

You'd have to be as thick as Cornelius Fudge to be caught unawares by the steadily approaching darkness. Perhaps that's overstating the matter slightly, as I do have that permanently imbedded Voldemort alarm system branded into my forearm, foolproof no matter how much subterfuge the Dark One uses. I must say, having every person involved in the conflict of good versus evil wanting you dead is a very singular experience. Ah, but again, I exaggerate. Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump/Redeemer, still holds out hope that one day I shall be metamorphosized into a warm and caring human being once more. My philosophy is that when Dumbledore agrees to share a hug with Voldemort and cry over the tragedy that has been his life, "I'm only misunderstood..." Excuse me while I suppress a snort. Knowing my _impeccable_ luck, he could find it within his enormous heart to forgive evil personified. He did forgive me, after all. 

I must admit, however, that even the most jaded, cruel, and tormented soul yearns for that one size fits most salve, love. Approximately once a year the softer side of Snape immerges, typically around the holidays. But then, with a bit of help from sardonia root, my mind is drawn to my rival, who bested me at _everything_, excepting the ultimate race of longevity. Perhaps my life remains "unfulfilled," and I'll have no one to pass the Snape legacy onto, but I'll be damned if not a few former students will pass my teaching persona on as a next-generation boogieman. And that remembrance suits my slightly skewed tastes perfectly. 


End file.
